


After-hours

by hte7437



Category: Original Creation, Uncategorized Fandoms - Fandom
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-12 06:45:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5656474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hte7437/pseuds/hte7437
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There is something wrong with the Goodwoud estate; some thing is wrong with it, it has always been that way, as far as anyone knew it was always like that, and as far as anyone knew it would always be like that. There are many things wrong with the world as people know it; is is how things are, how this world runs: on wrong things. The world descends into war, the war descends into tyranny, and from tyranny comes order. And of course... what, oh what, would we ever do without order? Order keeps our kind in it's place, and theirs in their rightfully earned one. "Their" here, means no person in particular. I'm rambling again, aren't I, dearie? It's just an aftermath from Chechtkya, I'm sure... tell me, have you seen the Goodwoud child?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before the last can Fall- Interlude One

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in an alternate reality. A bit of Racial Bias/Bigotry/Hate Language/Prejudice here and there, especially towards the beginning of the story. Please pay these no mind, and try not to get offended; I don't write to offend, some of the characters in this are closed minded and foul-minded. This is a warning, and also a reassurance: pretty much every race is insulted, not just one, so if it seems that way at some points, just know that there is something else coming later on that will probably even out the battle field. I try to refrain from offensive things, however, when the story calls for it, it will be included. This isn't limited to just racism/hate, there are other things too. This is just a precautionary message. Enjoy the show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That Night... From the perspective of She... Part One

The first thing She remembered hearing was the first crack of the first shot during the middle of the first night.

At first, She thought it to be too loud to even correctly be fathomable as Him alone, but all that changed as the door burst from its hinges with a loud crack (soft, compared to what She had heard just before), and in ran He. She had not seen He for many months, and of course, It probably had never exactly revealed her location to He; It probably just reveled at the restless He in his never-ending odessy to find She. She watched, tired, as the wood sprinkled bits of splinter here and there, and as she lowered her hand from the radio knob (A default reaction: anytime Him came in, the radio was to be off)

She dawned upon a realization that He was not just a hallucination; He was there, in the flesh. Before everything happened, She had not even known what a hallucination was, let alone what one felt like (Immense displeasure and disappointment; as if your tooth was extracted only to find out there was no underlying mutated "chompers" there to begin with... she had been through that before, and she felt no need to go back again, and relive the memory).

The silky lavender blue interior of the room was suddenly alight with a sudden burst of noise, and everything was illuminated as if a great orange sundown invaded the room. The colors mixed surprisingly well, at least in her eyes. Right now, She couldn't focus on the color, as she had so many times before, for She was fixated upon the figure of He; standing in the doorway, silent in disbelief, silhouette dark motionless, illuminated slightly from the sudden burst of light shining on his back, letting out a silent sob.

There was no words spoken, only motion. They ran to each other, She jumping up into He's arms, He lifting her easily. He twirled her around, with joyous fervor. He drew her in and held her close and tight. He could't tell, but she could; an immense sense filled with silent dread and cold horror. She kept her eyes shut in her embrace, as she was afraid to open them due to this new cloud of despair.

A few seconds passed: She needed to open up her gazers. From their perch near the nape of He's neck, she swallowed with fear, and her mouth became dry, gaping in horror, letting out a silent scream that was oblivious to He. She saw Fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to where everything began; things will be revealed in due time, as they will become clear afterwards.


	2. Foreward: Nightwitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ancient legend of Ceddá'k'cola, the "night" witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ceddá'k'cola pronounced "Ce-dakola"

The Legend of Ceddá'k'cola: As told to Providence Titubeth by her mother, and passed through the generations and ages. Translated from Innish to Bragmnk to English

You see-eth me near the light of there fire, roasting sweets and here 'ere songs,

Yet venture out in darkness, cometh the inebriated throng.

With pale white talons, and golden eyes, and 'derm as black as coal,

Teeth as sharp as the iron mask, and a soul to match the whole.

She demands the tittle "Ceddá'k'cola", for darkness is here her mark.

And she draws you ever-near with a telling of her snark.

Her snark, you hear, it truly sears a whimpering in your soul.

She'll snatch you up, and eat you down, devouring whole your soul.

For nothing ever quite is enough to quench her eternal thirst,

You best be quick on candle-stick be out'o fog bank before it clears.

Arguably it has been told that old 'k'cola has a soul:

She's suck you dry, so dear do fly, fly far where'ere you go.

Away from the coal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A side legend used technically as a "forward" to introduce the lore of this world, and possibly a future event and/or character.


	3. The Streets of Pietersthvilée; Downtown, 3 a.m.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The streets of downtown Pietersthvilée are deserted, save for one woman... maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitions of unknown/ made up terms at the end.  
> This is a side story, which is extremely relevant to setting up the story, which will become less confusing in due time, and reveal itself. But for now, enjoy.

Sauntering down the boulevard, blood red toe nails were visible through her open-toed 4-inch fuck-me-pumps. With every step, she thrust her hip to one side, alternating now and again, letting her ass sway with her hips.

The boulevard was practically deserted, save for a few prostitutes and meth heads.

_S'volock scum._

Illuminated by the full moon, and wet recently by the rain, the light gave the impression of the street being chapped with broken glass if one didn't look carefully enough. Normally menacing, it shone out, charming; and at this time of the night (or morning) Sasha was too tired to pay it any thought. She found the appearance calming, even folksy if she payed enough attention.

Somehow, it succeeded in reminding her of childhood.

She had lived in the city most of her life, and as soon as she could ride a bicycle, she took off in the night and rode about throughout the streets. Now that she was older, she wondered how she never really ran into any sort of trouble on her own out there, and at so young an age. Not to say that she had never had any trouble before to begin with. Yeah, she had more than enough to spare.

Sure, she had heard the various horror stories of various children, such as little Tommy, or little Angie somehow getting lost, late at night, somehow separated from the hypocrites who preach to them not to talk to strangers while they (the hypocrites) are occupied with some unknown marketer, or officer, or someone else, and ending up in the clutches of some pedophile or serial killer, and ending up strewn-up, gutless somewhere, and-or raped, or some things even worse than the two offenses.

Sasha, however, knew how to take care of herself, and that's why, especially at that hour, she felt right at home; comfortable, in her refuge from employment, although refuge was an interesting choice of words, as she was still on duty. But for now, this was her world, and it was comprised of her rules.

She'd be damned if she let anyone of these cunts break her goddamn rules.

Furthering herself down the boulevard, she stopped in front of a car with a very shattered yet still intact window. It was tinted, so she couldn't see inside , and she gave herself a proverbial pat on the back for her choice: she solely wanted to focus upon herself.

She wore a leather-looking sweater which was torn directly down the middle, fashionably, and held together like a corset; lace tying everything together tightly. The sweater went all the way down to her wide, curved hips, where they were immediately met with pitch-black, skin-tight latex pants which blended in seamlessly with the fuck-me-pumps.

She pushed up her breasts, and tried not to ruffle-down her clothes over any sore spots: she had been healing rather well at the moment, and attempted to not interrupt her body's natural recovery speed.

She gazed fondly at the face in the reflection; she considered it  beautiful: high cheekbones, and fierce smoldering amber eyes. The rest of her affects were rather of the same caliber: her skin an ethereal, almost unnatural shade of white; lips bow-shaped, and as red as blood. Some of the red had scuffed onto her cheek, and she made a quick graceful move to wipe it off. She then smoothed out her lip-rouge with the other hand, and gazed, as if attempting to remember something important, however unclear; she just had a feeling.

She was flushed, and it added to the existing theme of intensity. As she finished gazing, she continued to stare in the cracked window, and directed her attention to an alley with a small bin at the mouth lit with fire for warmth.

Realization washed upon her in waves, and to the beat in her head, she moved along to the mouth of the alley.

**Clack-Clack-Clack-Clack**

She could be more than quiet, but she decided she wanted to make a show of this.

_It's the least I can do_

As she arrived at the alley mouth, her right foot landed with impact in a small puddle of water which reflected, with a glassy haze, the full moon.

As Sasha neared the actual alley closer, she could hear the smallest noise; if she hadn't been akin to these kinds of things, she would have dismissed it as a rat, or a bottle rolling; but she knew better. She was usually right about these sorts of things.

She took a cigarette out of carton in small pouch she wore on the side of her hip, and a lighter from the same place. The lighter was embroidered with brown leather, with two half-circles which were in the form of an hour glass. She held the lighter up and lit the cigarette, inhaling the first botch of cheap tobacco. With a single sharp fast movement, she flipped the lighter closed and dropped it back in her pouch.

She took the cigarette out of her mouth and leaned on her side on the alley wall.

She hears the noise again. This time, it's closer than it was before.

She puffs her chest out.

"Got a light?"

Heavy footsteps become audible.

"You already have one, don't 'ya, toots?"

The man looked older, greasy with long grey hair, rough grey stubble. Normally, she would've found someone like him very attractive; it turned her on, getting it from a dirty old fucker. She would give him the ride of his mother-fucking life... yeah...but given the circumstance.

"You know what I mean."

She stared at him with a solid expression, no tell of anything on her face, save for a small smirk. They were silent for a few seconds.

"Very well," he replied with a knowing smile "What'll it be?"

"Well, for starters, I think I'll take a grumpy old man... dirty."

A small chuckle was shared between the both of them. He motioned for her to follow him.

He led her further down the alley, to a small booth made from a table and a tarp.

"What kind of bourbon d'ya want?"

She thought for a moment.

"Break out the good shit."

He brought out the bourbon, the ginger-ale, and the lime juice.

"I'm gonna have to charge another 2 yzknoats for ice."

"I get it... man's gotta make a living somehow."

They stood in silence for a minute as he mixed the drink.

"So," she started "Busy this fine evening?"

He laughed, a throaty, dry, good laugh.

"Business is drier than a 50-year-old-heffer about to give birth to her own pancreas and a cobweb. Just take it out and put a bullet between it's eyes, put it out of it's misery."

The two of them laughed at his comparison, however, she could see the sadness in his eyes, and she gave a sympathetic smile.

"Well, you have company now."

As he finished making the drink, he spoke.

"14 yzknoats."

She smiled with a scoff and a hand placed dramatically over her chest, but took out the money and paid without argument.

She lifted the drink.

"I wonder what I should toast to," she said, with a pause. "I know: to you. May the rest of your life be as is was in your dreams."

He stared in confusion as she took the first sip.

"In my dreams?"

"Well," she answered in response "Everyone has dreams, don't they? No one really dreams of doing this, selling objects, curios, and rarities in a mold-encrusted alleyway in the rectum of dawn; unless something is wrong with them, in that case, Godspeed, all that jazz, and even more."

He looked surprised at her response, and laughed again that beautiful laugh.

"Thanks, I guess, but I'm not complaining."

She smiles again, this time with a well-concealed sense of knowing. "And why is that, good sir?"

"Because I don't got it so bad," he responded simply. "I look on the side of the sun; while other's see the waste of the city at the Bluzhd'ay hour, I see a world untainted by all the toxic spilled throughout Vile-ville during the day. The moon washes away all that shit."

"They're lovers, you know," He continues. "The water and the moon. The moon comes out at night, unafraid to finally show the world it's beauty, and no one really pays the moon mind at night; everyone is preoccupied with their own shit, and all the good people are asleep... the only one who truly is there is the water, who gazes back at the moon and it's beauty, and the moon can see it's reflecion in the eyes of the other. And there they remain every night, gazing, fondly. A beautiful love story that I have the grace to witness."

She found herself beginning to gaze at him fondly, with a sweet smile.

"But bad shit happens too," He furthered. "The other day, 'round midnight, I saw a dying woman out in the street. She was probably around your age. Poor thing, covered in caked up blood, her own shit and vomit. She was beaten, badly."

She gives a surprised, shocked look.

"Really? What did you do?"

Interest peaked in her mind.

"I did what I do best. I took what she had on her and sold them, at half the price... maybe out of a sort of morbid respect... I don't know"

He stood in silence, a look of shame etched onto his face and into his light brown eyes.

"I buried her, out in the field over there," He said, pointing. "I figured it's the least I could do, provide the dead rest... she was beautiful, you know."

Tears were falling from his downcast eyes; they also began from Sasha's own ambers.

"You're beautiful." She said to him.

She came in close and hugged him tight.

"And I'm sorry."

The tears fell and dribbled onto the back of his torn up shirt.

Momentary Silence.

She held him as tightly as she possibly could, cherishing every second she could.

_This is a beautiful soul_

"But no one should have ever know in the first place."

She could feel the confusion vibrating through his body, and she flipped a knife from it's hiding place in her shirt.

With a sharp, quick movement she slashed at his jugular. As the blood spurted from the ruptured vein, a look of surprise was permanently etched onto his face, and the tears burned on her's as they streamed in constant ribbons. He fell into her arms. All she could do now was hold him close while his ragged breaths drew farther apart, growing more strained with each revolution. It shouldn't be long now.

She shut her eyes in anticipation. The tears burned the insides of her eyelids.

_Hellfire_ _._

Finally the jagged movements and ticks came to a stop, and he sagged a little in her arms. She let out a silent sob, as she let her weight be pulled down with him, sinking to her knees; just holding him.

She stayed for another hour and held him, just crying.

Then she stopped.

With the dedication and precision of a shark following the illustrious scent of blood, she made her way to the vender's booth. He said he had sold the items.

As she fumbled around with the receipt box, she slashed her index finger on a protruded pin point. She let loose a small yelp with a dry mouth, and then she found them.

Two receipts, separate. One showed the item was paid for by credit, which was odd for a vendor such as this, but provided a convenience nevertheless. She could only hope for the best with the other one. She pocketed them.

Then, making another swift movement to her side, she fumbled amongst the canisters and objects with shaking hands. She sought an oil-bannister.

Quickly, she tore the top off  and poured the contents over the beautiful man, very careful as not to spill any on herself.

After she emptied the entirety on the body, she ripped open her side pouch and removed her lighter, a single cigarette, and slowly took a few steps back.

It took her a few tries to engage the lighter, the way her hands were shaking, but after a few seconds it was no problem.

_It's no problem... it's no problem... no fucking problem... hellfire._

Sasha took a hit from the cigarette; a long, drawn out one. She let out the smoke with a long blow into the air, and swallowed the last of it, refusing to let it go. She could taste it as it jammed its way down her throat, clawing until it was inside her. She closed her eyes, waited, and tried not to breathe. Then, with her eyes still closed, she visualized her target in her mind; and then she threw.

As the still-lit cigarette hit its mark, she chose to open her eyes. Upon impact, everything seemed to move at half-speed.

The fire blazed up, bit-by-bit, and started in one section a ways from the beautiful man. For a moment, it looked like a drawing of a flame, almost like the top of a flower. Then it grew, and spread. It grew into a protruded stitched-up abomination of nature, curving, and curling its way toward its prey, hungry.

_Feed me... WHORE_ _._

The first thing to hit her was the smell. She knew it would never go away, and that was fine: She had no desire to let it leave. If it left, she wouldn't know what she would do.

For long agonizing minutes, she watched the feeding take place; she watched until the herd of fiery lions devoured the beauty of their prey whole, and left nothing but pain and oozing chared-black meat.

In the end, no beauty is left, no matter how peaceful the departure. There was just no life to be spared, and life was beautiful.

It was supposed to be beautiful.

And he was still beautiful.

She stood there, in the ghostly silence. Her crying had ceased. She fell, back-first, against the alley wall, sunk to the ground and sat. She lit another cigarette.

As she sat there, the hours seemed to creep by, rapidly, yet moving at a constant ever-reminding pace, and by the time she had finished the majority of the carton, the sky was tinted deep blue with evidence of the first shades of dawn.

She then looked toward the field in which led the alley led out to. She glanced at the large, knotted tree near which he must've buried the woman.

As she gazed, the wind lightly blew against her face, whispering. The moon was still out. By now most of the water had become dewey against the damp ground, and knew that likely she was the only one as of now to pay the moon any mind. She gazed into it, alarmed by it's brightness, and gazed with a fondness she would've revered for home. Her real home. And it was beautiful. But she knew the moon could see her for what she truly was.

_Monster._

But the moon knew the truth. The moon would always know the truth. She could feel the moon not returning her gaze.

_We are all hypocrites._

She walked, slowly, out of the alley, with the glass from which she drank, and didn't look back.

As she made her way down the damp streets, the moon to her back, she tried to regain the stride she had an eternity before. As she walked, she paused, stopping to look at herself in the same cracked window.

She took one look, and ran.

When first she bolted away, she failed to notice the figure in a black suit pop out of the car. It waited until the girl was out of sight before stepping out further into the middle of the street. He pulled out a phone and sent a text.

_You were right. She is a stone-cold progressive little bitch. She took care of everything for us, but now we have to intercept everything from her._

A reply; almost immediate.

_Report back. We have some things to discuss._

The man let a smirk crawl onto his face.

Some things just never got old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitions:  
> 1) Yzknoat (pronounced Yz-know-ot): the nation currency of the national LIkian States.  
> 2) S'volock (pronounced S-volock): Slang for criminal; theif  
> 3) Vile-ville: slang for Pietersthvilée (pronounced Piet-thers-ville).  
> 4) Bluzhd'ay (pronounced Blu-zhd-ay): Graveyard shift; witching hour.  
> Most of these words are derived from Russian; my tribute to "A Clockwork Orange".


	4. Letter: #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter providing background (somewhat); new characters: Kassandra, and the mysterious "N"

March 13th, 20XX

Kassandra

The morning begins with a kind of haze; the sky is bourbon colored, and everything seems alright. Then, the faster you go, the more you drive, the colder the air becomes... then icy blackness... then the mourning begins.

Like every one of these letters, I don't expect it to be read, hell, I don't even know if they are even being shipped anymore. These bastards consider everything censored material. Everything on the base, of late, has either been restricted, or severely limited. The days seem to be growing longer, the nights even more so, and I can almost taste the bitter air.

You know, right before whenever it rains, how you can sort of smell the rain; the humidity, the wet air, or whatever the fuck it's called?

Well, in almost the same way, I can feel something is about to happen. I don't know if it's good or bad; only a change.

_A change is gonna come; yes it is._

Vash,

N

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vash: "Yours"


End file.
